Page 58 of Real

I flinch. How did he know I was at the Den of Dreams?

“You think you’re so clever. Do you honestly think I didn’t have that place watched? That I didn’t have you watched? Heard you forced yourself on your guard in a parking lot today during your heat.” He laughs again, but it turns it into a hacking cough. He clears his throat. “Poor guy. Heard he was fat. Probably been so long since he got laid, he jumped at the chance to get some cheap plastic ass.”

I swallow hard. Is that what it was? It’s been a while since Timothy’s had sex. Maybe he forgot what an omega’s supposed to feel like. I clutch my elbow and shrink back.

This was a stupid idea. Antonio and Einar probably have lots of sexual experience. If I try to have sex with them, how will they react? I’m not a regular skatt. Maybe the Lights don’t care that I’m plastic, but what difference does that make if no one wants to be with me?

“I mean, look at you. Twenty-five years of my life for this piece of trash? And you fuck the first guy you meet too. Probably begged him for it, fucking slut.”

I step back. I did beg him for it. Tears burn in the corner of my eyes.

The gravel crunches behind me. I spin around to see an enormous blue dragon. Is this the warlock?

A man peers from around the dragon’s torso. It’s Timothy.

“Buddy! What are you doing here?” He runs up to me, and before I can tell him to stop, he wraps his wonderful, warm arms around me.

Heard he was fat. Probably been so long since he got laid, he jumped at the chance to get some cheap plastic ass.

No, that isn’t Timothy. That isn’t us. Nothing Dorian is saying is true.

It’s funny. Timothy and I prepared so carefully to enter the Den of Dreams tonight, worried that the Illusors might trick us, but the real liar is standing right here in front of us, trying to convince me of a version of reality that isn’t accurate at all.

I pull away from Timothy. I don’t know why he’s here with an ice dragon, but this isn’t his battle to fight.

It’s mine.

I straighten my shoulders and walk up the steps until I’m less than six inches away from Dorian. I meet his hateful gaze head on. I expect him to sneer or spit in my face, but he doesn’t.

He trembles.

“You know the legend of the skatts,” I say.

He limps backward.

“In every generation, the Lights grant the Illusors a protector.” I step forward again and grip the top of the knife still protruding from my chest. “In his human form, he advocates for them, but in his wooden form, he fights for them. In his wooden, he’s indestructible.” I grit my teeth and slowly pry the metal from my sternum. “I turns out skatts can be plastic too.”

The moment the metal comes loose, my whole body thrums with release. I grin as I point the knife under Dorian’s chin the way he once pointed it at me. “I’m not a cheap piece of plastic, Dorian. I’m a magical weapon. A weapon you trapped and abused for twenty whole years. And I’m here to take my revenge.”

The acrid stench of urine hits the air. I glance down and see a wet spot at the front of Dorian’s pants.

Who’s scared now?

“If you kill him, he wins,” a woman’s voice says behind me.

I turn to the side, the knife still aimed at Dorian’s throat. Standing next to Timothy is a naked seventy-year-old woman where the blue dragon used to be.

“I’m Anne, by the way. Nice to meet you.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Fucking hell, it’s cold. You’re plastic. Do you have a regulated body temperature? Because I wouldn’t say no to borrowing your shirt.”

Timothy looks at me meaningfully, then pulls at the neck of his shirt and hands it to Anne. I remember how vulnerable he felt when he took his shirt off earlier today. If he heard what Dorian said about him…

“It’s okay. You can have mine,” I offer.

But Timothy isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s looking at Dorian with a challenge in his eyes, daring him to say something. I’ve never thought of Timothy’s size as intimidating. He never uses his body that way. But he’s big. Really big. If he wanted to throw his weight around, he could.

He just doesn’t want to.

I press the tip of the knife to the soft skin under Dorian’s chin and lean in to whisper. “He was a much better lover than you.”

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